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There’s a charm to daydreaming

Of a clear and welcoming

Future that extends in curves,

When you’ve already been told,

In solemn tones, you have none,

Or not much of one. The charm

Lies in gilding the lily,

Although you may not notice

This—you were always dreaming

About a nonexistence,

A future never really

Existing, no more than God,

An idea to consider,

Not a part of simple things

Like tables, old calendars,

Things that now exist as past,

Matter of fact as a dog.

The doubled absurdity

Is the particular charm.

You think of future decades

Living this or that a-way,

When you’re working with mere months,

So your oncologists say.

You browse for houses.